


Fortune Only Favors Me

by WhyHelloThere



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Gambling, M/M, More later - Freeform, alcohol use, gangster!braden, he's kind insecure in this too now that im thinking of it, insecure!Andre, mentions of drug use, mentions of human trafficking, needy!Andre, spy fic, spy!andre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-07-27 11:12:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16217846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyHelloThere/pseuds/WhyHelloThere
Summary: As an international spy, Andre has accomplished many missions and seduced many targets so when he gets assigned a case involving an expensive casino and a crime ring he doesn't expect anything out of the ordinary. He's not ready to meet the prettiest and, even more surprising, the nicest criminal he's ever encountered.In which Andre is an awful spy and Braden should not nearly be attracted to him as he is.





	1. i'm sick of waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pukeandcry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pukeandcry/gifts).



> This was for pukeandcry's request of Andre being a "needy lil nightmare." I sorta got a little carried away with the idea, but I hope I haven't strayed too far from what you wanted!
> 
> Also shout outs to my two betas (you know who you are) who took the time to read through the first two chapters. All of the mistakes still in there or beyond the second chapter are completely my fault.

_One week prior_

  
The phone on the other end of the line rang exactly three times before picking up. “First Capital Bank, this is Christian speaking. How may I help you today?”

  
The man shifted his phone to his shoulder, so he’d have full use of both hands. “Hi, yes, I’m looking to place an order?”

  
“Of course. What type of order would you like to place?”

  
“I’m in need of another suit.” He paused for a moment as he unmoored the boat and pushed off from the dock. “I believe you have my measurements already on file?” The night air would have been refreshing in another situation, but right now it was just chilling his sweat.

  
“That we do. How soon will you be needing this suit?”

  
“I’m not in a hurry.” There was another pause and then a roar as the motor started. It grew softer as he moved away from the source. “But soon.”

 

“Alright. Will you be requiring any suits to be picked up as well?”

  
“Not at the moment, no. I think I can take care of any damaged suits myself.”

  
“Okay. Your request is being processed as we speak. Thank you for your continued patronage, seven-oh.”

  
As soon as the man ended the call, he flipped the phone over and pulled out the battery pack. He hurled both over the edge of the boat and then turned back to the other person on the ship. It was nearly morning and he still had a lot of work to get done.

 

_Present day_

  
Nothing appeared too small to have escaped notice from the designers of the Belvedere, Andre noted as he stepped into the awaiting elevator car, not even the elevator music. The lyrics crooned too softly to be made out, but he thought he could make out the barest hints of Italian or perhaps French. Some romantic language. It certainly wouldn’t be beyond what he knew about the place.

  
“Second floor,” he told the elevator operator and watched the button turn a pleasant shade of golden. For most anyone else, the menial position might not have deserved a second glance, but Andre didn’t, couldn’t, let the ostentatious role distract from the man’s real job: security. He could just make out the outline of a gun tucked into the back of the operator’s waistband through his too tight uniform and tucked the information away unalarmed. Extra security would be expected the closer to the inner ring he drew.

  
Despite the time of evening, the elevator was less crowded than the previous nights. The handful of men that rode with him were just another pack of nameless businessmen on a business trip sponsored by a nameless company and he quickly grew bored with watching them. The only secrets they had to hide were the affairs they had along with the money they lost, and then, only from their wives.

  
Instead, he turned to the far more rewarding glass walls with their brilliant view of the casino’s main room. Brilliant neon lights stared back at him promising endless wealth if he would only just take a taste. If he wasn’t here on business, real business, he might let himself be tempted, but instead only allowed himself a quiet sigh before changing his focus yet again.

  
From the height, although it was quickly dwindling, he couldn’t yet make out the faces of the patrons. That was alright though. He wasn’t in a rush. This was his third visit to the game room in as many days and while he would wait another three before growing concerned, he would welcome the relief of work that involved something other than surveillance. Somewhere, down in the midst of all those people, had to be his mark.

  
Slipping out before the elevator doors had even finished opening, Andre left the men to take the elevator directly to the game room. If Nicky was playing his quartermaster tonight, he’d call Andre out for being dramatic, but there was something to be said for making an entrance by walking down a marble staircase, champagne in one hand, another carefully laid on the railing. An elevator could never even begin to replicate that feeling.

  
He had timed his entrance almost perfectly, if he said so himself. The room bustled with tourists and locals alike who were still sober enough to notice the appearance of another guest. The attention didn’t last long, there were bets to place and money to lose, but he only needed a moment. If luck was with him tonight one of those pairs of eyes would belong to his mark.

  
“Drama queen,” chirped a familiar voice in his ear and distracted, Andre stepped forward, expecting ground floor and missing the last step. Dodging quickly out of his way, a waiter shot him an annoyed glance before escaping with his platter of amazingly un-spilled finger foods. So, instead of finding himself covered in shrimp and caviar, Andre found himself in the arms of what was likely the most beautiful man he’d ever laid eyes on. And he’d laid eyes on many men. The beautiful man wore a stupid hat and instead of looking stupid on him it just made him look stupid attractive. Andre was upset.

  
“Careful there,” said the beautiful hat wearing man. Even his voice was nice. Andre could feel the texture of his suit under his hand and it felt more expensive than he expected.

  
“A little late for that, thanks,” Andre blurted out before he could stop himself.

 

"No worries," Beautiful Man, as his brain had already named him, assured him. Before Andre could make a greater fool of himself Beautiful Man extracted himself and was quickly disappearing into the crowd.

  
“Papa?” He hissed, sure to keep his voice low, and pushed up his fake glasses. In the corner of its screen, it still read he was connected to Djoos’ workstation. “What have you done with my quartermaster?”

  
“Still here,” Djoos replied, “And do I need to tell you who your savior there was?”

  
“No,” Andre snapped. He hadn't made the connection at the time, but he certainly knew now.

  
“Braden Holtby.” Nicky sounded like he was reading off a list and was clearly avoiding answering what he was doing at the quartermaster’s workstation and not in Moscow on his own mission. “Former CSIS member before going AWOL. Resurfaced last year in Los Cabos and worked his way up to his position now with known crime ring, Men in Limbo. A pretty awful name if you ask me. Details on what said position involves are unclear, but likely focuses on clean up. But most importantly, he’s your mark.”

  
_You forgot to mention how stupidly attractive he is_ , Andre thought. He swore the man hadn’t looked nearly this attractive in any the photos he’d been shown. He would have remembered.

  
“I know who he is, thank you very much.” Andre snapped as he made his way to the bar like his original plan had been before he had made a complete fool of himself in front of the man he was supposed to be seducing. “If you aren’t going to be helpful then you can kindly fuck off.” A passerby shot him a concerned look which he mimicked right back at them.

  
Djoos let out a fake gasp, “You speak to your father that way?”

  
“Yes,” Andre replied before reaching up to tap his glasses, effectively disconnecting him from both of them. He didn’t need them to complete his mission anyway.

  
Typically, he wouldn’t want to drink on a job, but sitting at the bar without one would frankly just be suspicious. That was his only motivation. He definitely was not doing it to spite HQ. That would be extremely unprofessional of him and he was a professional. A cursory glance at the chalk covered specials menu was a formality, it hadn’t changed since the previous night.

  
“Frozen strawberry daiquiri,” he told the bartender once he’d caught her attention. There was a sort of relief in knowing that there was no quartermaster looking over his shoulder and calling him basic for ordering girly drinks. If anyone else cared they could go fuck themselves or buy him his next round.

  
Several sips later, Andre had yet to locate his mark again and was beginning to consider turning his glasses back on when he caught a glimpse of a familiar hat in the distance. Andre was up and on the move before he could even assess the situation. He passed by shiny slot machines and felt covered poker tables until he reached the roulette tables where he unapologetically wormed his way to the front. Whatever Djoos,and Nicky, had said, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  
At the head of the table stood the dealer, hands behind his back, already having spun both wheel and ball. The crowd watched with an intensity Andre had yet to find outside of a casino. The last stretches of a mission when the stakes are at their highest came close, but it lacked the personal investment. No one looked away from the table, hastily making their final bets before the ball stopped and the mark was no exception to this.

  
Andre, instead, watched him. He watched as the man took a small handful of chips from his already small pile. He watched as he placed them with careful precision on the section marked “red.” He watched as his hand tapped a pattern into the wooden trim.

  
“Playing careful like that’s never going to win you anything around here,” he quipped before he could think better of it. Was he going running on autopilot all night, he wondered, or did he have any chance of thinking something through? And then he looked up at the roulette wheel to watch as the ball slid into the slot marked for the red seven.

  
The mark turned to look at him and for a second, he thought that this was it, his mission was ruined, over, lost beyond hope. He’d better pack up his bags and go home now. And then the man parted his lips and Andre knew for certain that he was screwed. One way or another he wasn’t making it out of this mission without losing something.

  
“Playing careful can’t hurt you if you aren’t trying to win.”

  
_First of all_ , Andre thought, when he’d finally regained enough brain function to think about something other than how perfectly his lips were shaped, _what the fuck is that supposed to mean_. _And second of all, what the fuck is that supposed to mean._

  
“Well,” he said finally realizing that he’d been standing there staring without a reply for god knew how long. Thank whoever was looking out for him that he’d turned off his glasses earlier or he’d never hear the end of this. “I play to win.” He took the other’s rake and pushed his own chips over to the same red seven that had just won.

  
The mark laughed. “Pretty ballsy. One in a thousand chance that it’ll land there twice.”

  
Andre looked down shaking his head and when he looked back up he had made sure to tilt his head just so and put on his most mischievous smile. “The probability of one spin doesn’t affect the next. It’s still one in thirty-six.”

  
He couldn’t tell how effective the maneuver was. The mark’s returning smile seemed appreciative, but then he opened his mouth and said. “I’m pretty certain that’s not how probability works." Andre could feel his heart plument. "But if you win, all the more credit to you.”

  
In what felt like was the far distance but couldn’t have been more than ten feet, came the dealer’s voice, “No more bets.” It came from a different world, one separate from the one he and the mark occupied. With great difficulty, he drew his eyes back to the wheel.

  
Red seven.

  
He turned his gaze back up at his mark with a real smile. Smug, but at least ninety percent real. “Nothing is really that impossible.”

  
Another smile. “It seems I prosper when you do.” He gestured to the chips the dealer was redistributing to the winners.

  
“I’ll tell you what,” Andre pretended to whisper, leaning in close. “Let me double your winnings and in thanks you can buy me a drink.”

  
“And what if you lose all my hard-earned winnings?”

  
“That’s just something you’ll have to risk.” Andre pulled back only enough so that he could see the other man’s face. First impressions were important and getting a read on the man early on was important. 

  
The mark brought a hand up to his chin and rubbed his beard, pretending to think for a moment. “I’m not sure you need another drink. You seem to have one already.” He motioned to the half-full glass Andre was still holding.

  
Andre barely took a look at it before throwing his head back and downing it all in a swift gulp. “What drink?”

  
“In that case, where should I place my bets, Mister?”

  
“Burton. Andrew Burton.” The lie rolled off his tongue easily just like he’d practiced it, “And you are?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

  
“Braden Holtby. So where should I bet Mr. Burton? My fate is in your hands.”

  
“Easy, Mr. Holtby, double zero. Don't worry though. I don't hold your fate in my hands, just your money.”

  
Holtby moved to grab his rake back from where Andre had placed it after having borrowed it in the last round, but Andre placed his hand on top of his, stopping the movement. “Excuse me.” He raised his eyebrows in an expression of mock indignity, “But I think I should be the one to do the honors. After all, it was my idea.”

  
“Well, then by all means.” He moved his hand out from underneath Andre’s, but only after a moment’s hesitation.

  
Double zero was only a few feet to their left, a distance easy manageable by the rake, but Andre pretended it wasn’t and leaned over the table in a way he knew brought attention to his ass. For a brief moment he had a fantasy of the mark pinning him down, then and there. Right on the betting table. Right in front of everyone in the room. And having his way. He dismissed the thought quickly, but as he leaned back to his former position and caught Holtby’s eye he had a feeling he wasn’t the only one with those thoughts.

  
He made a show of biting his bottom lip in anticipation as he watched the wheel turn for the third time. In turn, Holtby moved closer under pretense of the table growing more crowded, but the hand at Andre’s lower back betrayed him. Neither of them commented on it, focus trained on the wheel.

  
“No more bets,” called the dealer.

  
Double zero, said the wheel.

  
Andre turned to the mark, his mark, eyes bright. He’d known the other had moved closer but hadn’t realized how much closer until that moment. Their faces were only inches apart, close enough that Andre definitely didn’t miss it when the other’s eyes darted down to look at his lips. He had released his lower lip at some point that he didn’t remember and while he couldn’t see it for himself now, he had practiced the maneuver enough times in the mirror that he knew his lips would be even redder than usual. For a second, Andre thought the mark was going to kiss him right there, but then the second passed and Holtby seemed to regain his composure. He didn’t remove his hand from Andre’s waist though.

 

“You're welcome,” Andre said after the silence had gone on for several moments.

  
It seemed to shake Holtby out of his daze and he smiled again. Andre could get used to seeing those all the time. “I seem to have forgotten my manners. Let me go cash these chips in and then we can see about getting you your reward. I’ll meet you back at the bar?”  
Andre was reluctant to let him out of his sights for the second time that night and Holtby seemed to notice because he took Andre’s hand in his own and squeezed it reassuringly.

  
“I won’t be long. Here,” He pulled a neatly folded fifty out of his pocket, placed it in the hand he was holding, and gently curled Andre’s fingers around it. “Why don’t you order something for both of us while I go take care of this?”

  
“Alright," he beamed, "Don’t be long.”

  
Holtby smiled back before lifting Andre’s hand up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to his fingers. His lips were warm against his hand and even when he pulled away Andre could still feel the pressure. “I’ll be back before you even realize I was gone.” And then he was moving through the crowd. Andre felt a rush of déjà vu as he watched the other’s hat disappear but was determined not to let it get to him.

  
“Djoos, can I get visuals on the mark?” He asked before he realized he had turned his glasses off. _Fine_ , he thought, _I didn’t need them anyway._

  
Back at the bar, he weighed his previous problem regarding drinking again. His mark had already thrown him off his guard and another drink wouldn’t help, but on the other hand he couldn’t say no to one when he’d been the one to propose it in the first place. Sighing, he signaled to the bartender that he was ready to order.

  
He’d finished two glasses of water and was starting on his second daiquiri, a compromise he made between drinking and not drinking, before he began to wonder if he’d been stood up. It wasn’t impossible, but he hadn’t picked up on anything that would suggest his mark wasn’t interested. In fact, all the signs seemed to point to the mark being very interested in him. Maybe he should turn his glasses back on after all. When he saw a familiar hat making its way to the bar, he let out another sigh, this time out of relief, before schooling his features into something more attractive than worry.

  
“Sorry it took me so long,” he apologized, “I ran into a friend who doesn’t quite take a hint. You know the type.”

  
Andre laughed, tilting his head back in a way he knew exposed the smooth line of his neck all the while making note of the friend. Whoever he talked to could be a fellow mafia member. He’d have Djoos run the security tapes later and see if he could make out the identity of this mystery man. “Do I ever. Although,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “You’ll have to forgive me in turn.”

  
“And what is it that I need to forgive you for?”

  
“Because you took so long I ended up drinking your drink for you. I didn’t want the ice to melt and have it all watered down.” It was a lie. He had never even bought the other man’s drink. He put on his best faux innocent look, the one that was meant to be seen through. Hopefully, it read as Andre lying about the sincerity of the apology and not the buying of the drink.

  
Holtby seemed to be charmed enough by it though. He glanced down at the half-finished drink in Andre’s hand. “I suppose that means you spent all my money then?”

  
“You know you’re pretty cheap for a guy who practically robbed the house tonight, with my help of course,” Andre pointed out with no real malice behind it. They both knew that the amount Holtby had given him was more than enough for two drinks, even when they were as expensive as they were, but he didn’t ask for the change back and Andre didn’t offer it.

  
“I have to be,” Holtby smiled and signaled to the bartender to order his own drink, “Or else you’d spend it all.”

  
Andre’s breath caught in his throat, but he covered it up with a quick sip of his drink. The resignation in his voice suggested acceptance in spending more money on him and he couldn’t spend more money without spending more time. Andre did a silent celebratory scream that for a silent noise was far higher in pitch than he’d ever admit. Touching doesn’t mean anything and paying for drinks is the bare minimum he’d expect from non-marks. This was the first real piece of evidence that things were finally going his way.

  
“Not all of it,” he said, mock offended, “I’m not unnecessarily cruel. I would leave you enough to feed yourself, pay rent. Maybe if you asked nicely, I’d even let you buy yourself a couple of new shirts once in a while.” He reached out to tug on Holtby’s button down for emphasis and for an excuse to touch him again.

  
“Oh? So that’s how it’s going to be then.” He took a swig of his own drink. Andre hadn’t been paying attention when he’d ordered, but it looked hoppy enough for him not to even want to steal a sip. It was a sad thought, because stealing drinks was always one his favorite moves.

  
“Yup.” He put an extra emphasis on the pop at the end and had to resist grinning when it had the desired effect of drawing Holtby’s eyes.  
“And there’s nothing I could do to change your mind?” The hand he laid on top of Andre’s wasn’t subtle, but he ignored it and tapped his chin as if in thought.

  
“Well, there is one thing, I suppose.”

  
“Your wish is my command.”

  
“Then I want your hat.”

  
“My hat?” he asked, clearly caught off guard, “What do you want with that?”

  
“You said anything,” Andre reminded him, “It doesn’t matter why.”

  
Holtby laughed, before taking his hat off revealing more of the pleasant brown hair that had only poked out before. “I suppose I did.” He reached out and placed it delicately on top of Andre’s head.

  
Andre took a look in the mirror that stretched across the back of the bar and adjusted it, so it wouldn’t cast a shadow over his eyes. It didn’t look near as good on him as it did on his mark, but that wasn’t the point. All guys love it when you wear their clothing and Andre could see the glint of possessiveness in Holtby’s eyes that he was hoping for.

  
He put a hand on his hip and struck a pose. “What do you think? Perfect? I might have to keep it for a while.”

  
Holtby reached up to adjust the hat and Andre knew it was just an excuse to touch him. The hat had looked fine in the mirror. “Now it is.”

  
He took his time lower his hand and when he did it never fully returned to his side, but instead lingered next to Andre’s. Not quite touching, but enough that Andre would only have to move his pinky finger and they would be. He was playing it safe after what could have been seen as hesitation from Andre.

  
Andre moved his hand so that they were touching in a reassuring gesture. “So,” he leaned in, “What brings such a cautious player to a D.C. casino? Business? Pleasure? The mixture of both?”

  
“Business, although I wouldn’t mind a little bit of pleasure on the side. And yourself?”

  
Still cautious. Either he didn’t trust Andre with more details or didn’t think he’d find them interesting.

  
“One hundred percent, completely and utterly, pleasure.” He winked as he said pleasure.

  
“Overkill,” crooned a voice that sounded an awful lot like Djoos’s, but his glasses were still off so he knew it was just in his head.

  
_Shut up_ , he thought at it. There was nothing he couldn’t blame on the drinks if the mark gave any sign that it was too much. Besides, it wasn’t a real lie. He found great amount of pleasure in his work.

  
Holtby smiled and took a sip of his drink, “Why am I not surprised?”

  
“Oh, don’t say that. You make it seem like I’m becoming predictable.”

  
“I doubt anyone could ever make that claim of you.” His thumb moved in careful circles on Andre’s wrist.

  
“You, flatterer you,” Andre said hoping it sounded less out of breath than it felt. Perhaps the voice of Djoos was right. Maybe he did needed to slow things down. Moving too quickly was a sure-fire way to draw suspicion upon him. “Have you had a chance to try the hotel’s in-house restaurant yet? For hotel dining, it’s at the top of its league.”

  
“That’s high praise from you I assume, since I’m beginning to get a sense of your tastes. That is to say, expensive. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten around to it yet. I've only been in town a couple days and have been too caught up with work to eat outside of my room.”

  
_So he hadn't been on that plane after all. I wonder who was on it,_ he thought.

“Oh, then you have to try it. Obviously not tonight. I’m sure the kitchens are all closed by now even if you hadn’t already eaten.” Andre knew for a fact that for the right price the kitchens were open at all hours. “But tomorrow perhaps.”

  
“Has anyone ever told you that you are very presumptuous?” Holtby asked, but he didn’t sound annoyed.

  
“Never,” Andre replied. “I hope you don’t eat too early.”

  
“Is seven too early for you?”

  
“Seven thirty?” he suggested. It didn’t truly matter to him, but it made him feel like he was a little bit more in control of the situation by proposing his own time.

  
“It’s a date. And now I assume you’re going to beg leave having gotten what you came here for?”

  
Andre’s heart stuttered. _There was no way the mark could have seen through him_ , he reassured himself. It was just more teasing. “Like I said, I fear I am becoming too predictable. That being said, I’m afraid that unless you want me to forgo beauty sleep in your name, I will be taking my leave.”

  
“I wouldn’t mind that,” Holtby grinned and Andre had to wonder how this could be the same person who only betted on one to two rewards earlier in the night. “But perhaps not tonight.”

  
“Not tonight,” Andre agreed letting a little blush form on his cheeks before making his way back to his rooms for the night. He definitely didn’t look back because he was a professional and professionals were confident in all their decisions. They didn’t need to look back. And when he didn’t look back he definitely didn’t see a now hatless figure looking right back at him.


	2. bitter sweet touch

The next morning, he woke up disoriented and annoyed. Disoriented because he didn’t immediately recognize the hotel room as his own and annoyed because he was hungover. What was the point of drinking water if it didn’t even help?

A knock came at the door reminding him of what woke him in the first place.

“One moment,” he called out, frantically searching the room for the complimentary bathrobe. It had been tossed carelessly aside at some unknown point but for some strange reason he couldn’t seem to find it among everything else he’d tossed around.

The knocking continued as if they hadn’t heard him.

“One _moment_ ,” he repeated louder as he slipped on the robe, double checking it hid the handgun tucked into the waistband of his briefs. _Gun hidden, check._

A look through the peephole revealed an impatient looking steward glaring back and tapping his foot. Andre lowered his guard slightly. Leaving the chain on, he opened the door.  

“Yes?” He asked, making a show of tying his robe shut.

“Mr. Andrew Burton?”

It took Andre a second to remember that was supposed to be him. “Who’s asking?” 

_“That doesn’t sound suspicious at all_ ,” Djoos’ voice commented helpfully. He ignored it knowing quite confidently that his glasses were still off and laying on his bedstand several feet away. Why couldn’t his voice of reason have taken on the voice of anyone else? Even when he wasn't here physically or electronically to harass him, Djoos still managed to do it. 

“I have a delivery, sir. From Mr. Holtby.” The steward stepped back to reveal a rather large bouquet of flowers sitting on top of a cart.

_What’s the chance they’re bugged?_ Andre wondered.

“Then by all means,” he replied, closing the door to remove the chain. He reached out to take the vase after having carefully reopened the door so that it blocked the view into his room from what his shoulders couldn’t.

“I’m afraid it’s very heavy, sir. Allow me.” He made to move through the door.

Andre ran through all the top-secret tech that he’d begged HQ to take with him and then the image of the disaster that was his room with said tech scattered across every surface. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Sir, I’m afraid I have to insist. It's very heavy,” He repeated, and something clicked in Andre’s brain. It wasn’t just the flowers that were there to spy on him.

“Then insist.” He all but tore the gift out of the man’s hands. “Thank you for all your help.”

As his hands were full with the, admittedly, very heavy vase, he kicked the door shut before the man could follow him in. Who knew flowers could be this heavy? Although with the amount that was crammed into it, he shouldn’t have been surprised. He was no flower expert, but he didn’t think there were usually this many in one container. _All the better to hide a bug in_ , he thought. Like the faux elevator controller, the idea didn’t particularly worry him. Precaution didn’t mean that suspicions were high regarding him specifically. It was very possible everyone who got close to the inner circle was treated like this. If he was in charge, he'd certainly do the same. 

Setting the flowers down on the lid of the toilet, he headed back to the room to find the bug detector that he'd thankfully thought to bring. Like most of his things, it had been tossed absentmindedly when unpacking, so it took him a moment to find it. He'd used it when he'd first arrived to scan the room, but hadn't needed to since. 

_A-hah,_ he thought, pulling said detector out from underneath a pair of pants he couldn't remember if he'd worn already. _There you are._

The indicator stayed unlit until he crossed through the bathroom threshold again when it suddenly began to blink violently red. 

_That's what I thought ._

Rather than spending the next thirty minutes trying to find exactly where the bug was planted within the flowers and giving away the knowledge that he had found the bug in the first place, Andre turned back to room with a sigh and began the long task of cleaning the room up. He took more precautions this time in hiding both his tech and weapons. Until now, he'd left a do not disturb sign up to prevent any unsuspecting cleaners from stumbling across his mess, but eventually he would need to take it off to reduce suspicion. Now was a good enough time to take care of it than any.

Room in order, he brought the flowers out of the bathroom and placed them on the desk to admire. He'd been so preoccupied before with thoughts of the steward and then the bug that he hadn't spent much time just appreciating the flowers themselves and what they represented. They looked beautiful too. Holtby could have easily just payed a florist to pick out the arrangement, but for some reason he had a feeling he had at played a more active role in the process. He could just imagine the other man standing at the flower shop staring at the possibilities with the same intensity he had stared at the roulette wheel the previous night. At least he was better at this, than he had been at gambling. 

Struck by the flowers, Andre almost missed the note tucked in within the flowers. He plucked it out, careful not to disturb the flowers. The parchment felt thick and the words were definitely handwritten.   

“I thought the excessiveness would suit you you,” read the note. Signed, “B.H.”

He felt like a lady in one of the period dramas he'd watched recently: ready to swoon from the affections of an admirer at a moment's notice. If he wasn’t alone in his room, he’d consider it. Swooning without witnesses seemed a tad much even for him though. He allowed himself to sit, not collapse, delicately into a nearby chair.

After what seemed like an eternity of letting himself run some very nice fantasies that may or may not have been period themed, but was likely closer to ten minutes, he got up to check the time. One thirty-six, his phone read. No wonder the steward had thought it he would find him awake. Andre huffed at the thought, the man should have been used to it by now. All a casino’s activities happen at night anyway. He bet that there were plenty of guests who had gotten back to their rooms far later than he had and even more who had yet to wake up even now.

The screen also announced a text from Nicky giving him shit about turning his glasses off last night, a snapchat from Djoos, and a news alert declaring information he heard from the source itself a week ago. All of which he ignored without opening.

The rest of the day seemed to pass in a daze. He’d already patrolled the casino on previous days and reviewed his mission notes enough times to have memorized the whole folder. From the floor plans to the public, and many private, financial records, he knew all there was for him to know about both the casino and key players. There simply wasn’t much for him to do until dinner.

For a short while, he went down to the hotel gym, but left before a full hour had passed. Working out felt pointless when he knew he couldn’t really push himself. Afterall, who knew if he’d need the extra energy later? He browsed the complimentary channels back in his room, but none of them could hold his attention. Drinking wasn't an option considering last night's incident and he didn't want to ruin his appetite. Nothing seemed good enough for him.

By the time seven rolled around, he was in a panic. Standing at the end of his head, towel still wrapped around his waist from a longer shower than he had anticipated, he contemplated the suits in front of him.

“Is this too much?” he snapped Djoos a picture of a three piece, ignoring his quartermaster’s earlier message in the process.

“Do the pinstripes make me look too tall??”

“Red???” he added to another.

Seven pictures later, Djoos had yet to respond, but he was feeling more confident having put his hair together in the meantime. _Two piece it is,_ he decided.Holtby had seemed to appreciate his cockiness the other night anyway, he doubted he would mind a little loosing of formality.

By the time he made it down to the restaurant, he was officially fifteen minutes late. The hostess informed him that Holtby had yet to arrive, but showed him to a table far enough away from the windows that he wouldn’t have to be worrying all night about snipers. He and Holtby appeared to have more things in common than he thought: neither of them enjoyed being shot.

“Would you like anything to drink while you wait?”

“Just water, I think,” he told her, but was already regretting the decision ten minutes later when his cup was nearly empty and Holtby still hadn’t arrived.

_He probably just got caught up taking to a friend again_.

The other tables were slowly emptying out as it was already late for supper, but even the late eaters were finishing up.

Against his thigh, he felt his phone buzz and fought back a wave of disappointment first as he saw that it was Djoos replying an hour late then again as he realized Holtby didn’t even have his number. He opened the message anyway.

“Def the pinstripe,” it read. He didn’t reply.

It didn’t matter that he’d chosen the wrong suit anyway now. Holtby wouldn’t be showing up. Logically, he knew that. Logically, he should be calling Djoos to get a location on his man. Logically, there could be any number of reasons Holtby could be late. And yet, for some reason unknown to him, Andre found that he couldn’t get up and leave just yet. _I will eventually_ , he told himself. _Just not now. not yet._

Close to forty-five minutes after he’d arrived and an hour after their arranged meeting time, he caught sight of the waitress heading towards his table. Andre thought she was going to ask him to leave. All but two tables had left already and there were several workers out wiping down tables. He was halfway out of his seat to comply when she spoke.

“I have a message for you, sir, from Mr. Holtby.”

Andre was caught in an awkward halfway stance between standing and sitting and uncomfortably sat back down to cover the motion up.

“You do?” He thought he managed to keep most of the hopefulness out of his voice.

“He apologizes for his tardiness. His business meeting ran longer than he was expecting. And he’s afraid he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to escape it. He said to tell you to feel free to order whatever you want. It’ll just go in his tab.”

At first, Andre just felt embarrassed that the waitress knew that he had been stood up. Then the same fear that been running through his head all evening made a reappearance. _What if Holtby was never going to show up? What if he was faking it all? What if you fucked the whole mission up?_ And then anger.  _I clearly left a big enough impression on him that he sent me bugged flowers, but I guess not enough to actually show up to a date._

It took more self-control than Andre wanted to admit, to refrain from ordering the most expensive thing on the menu as a big fuck you. Instead, he ordered the second most expensive thing along with a wine that cost double that of the meal. When the food arrived, he took a picture to send to Djoos.

"Don't you love fine dining? :)"

Almost instantly he got a reply back with just a picture of Djoos’ middle finger. No caption. 

When he got back to his room he still hadn’t decided whether he was more angry or disappointed, but he was certain of one thing: he was definitely a little bit drunk. Certainly at least tipsy enough to pretend that he wasn’t an international spy who just got stood up by his target on a mission of what was probably utmost importance. International spy Andre Burakovsky couldn’t booty call his targets and even Andrew Burton wasn't that big of a hoe, but drunk Andre certainly could. Or leave a very angry voicemail. He had yet to conclude which would be more satisfying but reached for the phone regardless. When he realized yet again that he had never got the other man’s number he tossed his phone across the room.

_Would it be too much if I called the front desk to ask for his phone number? Probably._ But then again, he was often a man of overdoing it. Braden had said just this morning that he liked that about him. 

He was still deep in contemplation when the door knocked. Or rather, someone knocked at the door. Doors couldn’t knock themselves. He wasn’t _that_ drunk. Although, he was drunk enough that he didn’t bother to check through the peephole to see who it was. If someone wanted to kill him now, he wasn’t really in a state where a few moments preparation would help.

Braden Holtby looked just as perfect as the last time Andre had seen him. Perhaps even more perfect? Was it possible to be more than perfect? You could above a hundred percent in a test, not that he’d know, so you had to be able to be beyond perfect. Braden certainly seemed like he could be. He bet Braden was the type of guy to get above a hundred on a test. The man was perfect in all other ways why not one more?

Andre wasn’t about to forget his wasted hours, but despite what his earlier contemplation suggested, he still remembered what his job here was and he had a feeling slamming a door in his mark’s face would not prove conductive to that job.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here.”

If Braden had looked hesitant before, he looked ten times that now. He peered beyond Andre, trying to see into the room, “May I come in?”

“No,” He let Braden stew in that for a tense moment, “What do you want?”

Braden squinted before leaning in to sniff at him. “Are you drunk?”

He hadn't thought he'd slurred his words _that_ badly. “Are you?” He replied, before continuing, “You gave me full access to your credit card at a fancy restaurant with one of the nicest selections of wine that I’ve seen in a long time. Why would I be drunk?” He leaned against the doorway in a manner that he hoped said “cool and casual,” and not “my coordination is off, standing makes me nauseous, and I need support least I fall over.”

“We don’t have to have this conversation tonight,” Braden went on clearly unconvinced of Andre’s sobriety.

“Maybe not but be out with it anyways. I want to hear you say it.” The sooner the better for him, the dizziness didn’t seem to be fading like he had first thought.

“I’m sorry for standing you up tonight.”

Andre waved his hand in a gesture to continue. “What no excuses?”

“None that would fix my mistake.”

It was Andre’s turn to squint suspiciously and it was because he was suspicious and not because his vision was blurring.

“If you must know, my business meeting lasted far longer than I expected.”

“So I’ve heard. It’s going to take more than a more than a meal for you to win back by favor you know. I’m not some cheap whore. Not that I have anything against cheap whores,” he added quickly, “I’m just not one myself.”

“Well, originally I was going to offer to take you out, but I don’t think you’re in any state to be making decisions like that right now. Let’s get you back into bed now why don’t we?”

“I’m not drunk!” Andre snapped, stepping forward to prove his case, but quickly found that the floor wasn’t in the same place that he left it.

Braden caught him before he could become better acquainted with any hard surface. “Woah there,” he cautioned, and Andre thought back to their first encounter.This time however, Braden didn’t flee as soon as he could. Even though Andre felt like he could probably make it back inside by himself with only minor difficulties, Braden held on to him.

"I can walk just fine by myself, thank you," he told the other man, but made no move to separate himself. 

"I'm sure you could," Braden agreed and then proceeded to move both of them inside the room and towards the bed. 

With Andre placed gently on top of the bed, Braden untangled himself despite Andre’s best efforts. “Let’s get these shoes off you alright? You don’t want to be sleeping in them.”

He pulled Andre’s foot into his lap and started undoing the laces. Andre watched his hands pull at the loose ends, undoing the knot, fascinated as if he'd never seen a shoe untied before. Braden’s hands were worn and callused, but Andre swore he could feel the warmth from them through his shoes.

“Jacket, next.”

By this point Andre was more than halfway asleep, but the strong hands at his shoulders jolted him awake again as he remembered the gun at his lower back. He tried to push Braden’s hands away, but his strength seemed to have been sapped at some point in the last half hour.

“Just trying to take your jacket off, darling. Nothing else, I swear.”

“Cold,” Andre mumbled, quite proud of himself for his quick thinking.

“It’ll just be a second and then we can get you under the covers alright?”

Andre shook his head and immediately regretted it. He could have pinpointed the exact moment Braden realized what was about to happen. Too quick for Andre to follow, Braden grabbed a nearby waste can, placing it under him. It was timed perfectly and Andre let out a pitiful noise as he vomited up the second most expensive meal on the hotel’s menu.

On his back he could feel Braden rubbing soothing circles, before he was distracted again. In the distance, he could hear what had to have been Braden, for there was no one else in the room that he knew of, making soft encouragements, but the words sounded warbled like he was underwater. When it looked like he was finished, Andre felt the hand disappear, but it was only gone for a second.

“Here. Rinse your mouth out first and then drink the rest of it,” Braden told him, handing him one of the complimentary bottles of water. It was still cold from the fridge. As soon as Andre took it, Branden's hand found its way back to its previous position.

Andre couldn’t remember a time in his life where he had felt less attractive. When he had finished half the bottle and was clearly making no effort to finish it, Braden helped him lay down on his back. There were definitely more pillows piled behind him than he remembered which meant Braden must have moved them, but he couldn’t remember him doing it. Either way, he didn't protest, just leaned back and appreciated the thought. 

Braden put the bottle back into his hand once he was situated. “Just finish this for me. There’s not much left.” Andre made a face, but he didn't budge. "If you don't think this yourself, I will find a way to make you."

"You're not a very nice nurse," Andre complained but carefully uncapped the bottle and took a few sips. Braden gave him an encouraging smile and he hated himself a little more because it worked.

Bottle finished, he tossed it on to his nightstand and flung an arm over his eyes so that he couldn’t see the pity or disgust that had to be consuming Braden’s eyes by now. “Sorry, you're not mean. You don't even have to be here right now. You must be really regretting your decision to ask me out to dinner now.”

“As I remember, you were the one who asked me to dinner, but if you think one mishap is going to make me run away then you’re wrong.”

He moved his arm slightly, so he could see if the other was lying. “This couldn’t have exactly been the highlight of your night.”

“True, but I think I had enough excitement last night. Not that I’m complaining, but sometimes a break is nice.” Braden didn’t look like he was lying, and Andre felt a flush creep up his neck.

He pulled his arm back over his eyes so Braden couldn't see the flush. "Still, you could be doing anything else right now. You don't owe me anything. You don't have to be here."

"If you don't want me here..." Andre felt him start to stand up. 

"That not what I meant," he corrected himself hastily. He felt the bed sink back down as Braden sat back down and felt a sense of relief wash over him.

"What did you mean then?"

"I just meant," he trailed off. “What did I do to deserve you?” He was suddenly grateful that this wasn’t an assassination mission. He didn’t think he couldn’t finish the mission if it was. As it was he was beginning to feel guilty for manipulating the man.

_He’s a drug trafficker,_ Andre reminded himself.  _He’s a criminal. He’s definitely killed people before_.

_So have you,_ said another part of his mind.

_That’s different_ , the first part protested, but it felt weak. _You kill killers._

“Probably the same thing I did to deserve you,” Braden replied.

“And what’s that?”

“You tell me.”

"Probably something awful," he guessed.

Braden didn't laugh. 

The room faded to quiet after that, but Andre wasn’t complaining. His head still throbbed, but he was starting to drift off again. He felt Braden shift to get up and he reached up to stop him.

“Stay?”

There was a long silence and he thought Braden was going to leave despite his protest, but then there was some shuffling that Andre realized was Braden taking off his shoes.

“Alright.” The response was so quiet that Andre would have missed it if he hadn’t been listening for it.

Braden left his suit jacket on mimicking Andre and lay down on the bed next to him making sure that they weren’t touching. Andre wanted to reach out and touch the other man. Not in a creepy sense, but just out of a need for physical contact. He didn't move. The other had made sure not to touch him when he'd laid down and he had to respect that.

It didn’t take the other man long to fall asleep and despite the lights in the room still being on. Andre couldn't find the energy to turn them off himself, instead lay there surprisingly unable to do the same. Every part of him was exhausted, but his gun was still digging into his lower back and his head still throbbed. At first he stared at the ceiling counting to one hundred in all the languages he knew, but quickly grew bored and turned his attention to the man next to him. 

_How could a killer sleep so softly? How could a murder look so peaceful in sleep?_ He wondered initially, but as he grew more tired he couldn't keep up such moral fronts and his thoughts quickly turned into _"How is he so pretty?"_ and _"I wonder what he'd look like first thing in the morning."_ It was these thoughts along with the rhythmic sound of the other’s breathing that finally lulled him enough that he fell asleep. 


	3. i don't need another friend

From the near perfect imitation of caring in the doorman’s smile to his clear reflection in the polished marble floor, Andre knew with a certainty he never seemed to possess around Braden, that this was a different world. He let his eyes close, blocking out the enormous glass wall next to their table, and took in the lingering scent of their waiter’s cologne. Placing the exact scent was impossible, but it smelt nice and he would have wagered it was the sort that changed scent to match the time of day. That is to say, the good kind. Braden wore the same sort. A different brand, a different scent, sure, but the same sort of expensive. 

Two tables away, nobody sat next to each other here, an older couple discussed something he couldn’t fully catch. Occasionally, bits floated his way full of words he only used when making fun of these exact types of people. Their vowels weren’t the same as his vowels, their constantans both softer and stronger. Emphasis was placed on words that didn’t seem to deserve them giving birth to new meanings, meanings he could only begin to guess at.

When Braden pushed his chair in for him, Andre had almost been able to imagine that the wealth he knew had brought him here hadn’t been gained through the death of others. How many others had purchased their tables with the same kind of filthy money? How many other mobsters, how many other felons were sharing this space with him? Were the old couple money launderers or just everyday rich capitalists? Did the staff know? Perhaps they were in on it too. 

He pushed the thoughts away, they wouldn’t do him any good now, and focused on taking in the luxury of it all. It came easier than he liked to just rub his thumb down the hem of the thick napkin and appreciate the novelty of it all. To sink into the cushion beneath him and welcome the plushness. To imagine a staff member taking a stick to it like one would whack a pillow. It was much harder to stifle the following snort.

“Yes?” Braden asked, looking over the top of his menu.

"I was just thinking that I was glad you invited me to dinner tonight."

He raised his eyebrows in a way that seemed to say, _is that all?_

"And that you actually showed up this time?"

_And?_

Sighing he caved in and described the image. When Braden had to bring a hand up to muffle his own laugh, he felt a pleasant rush of pride for being the one to do that. 

“You’re a menace,” he declared once he had regained his composure.

“So I’ve been told.”

“It wasn’t even _that_ funny.”

“It was a little funny,” Andre defended himself. “What are you ordering?”

Braden looked down at the menu briefly before setting it to the side. “Why don’t you order for me?” It felt like a challenge, an initiation of a game only they knew about. Like the night they met, Braden was giving him the reins just to see what would happen. It wasn’t trust. It was curiosity. Wind the toy up and watch it go.

“Alright,” he agreed, already forgetting his previous decision to just order the same thing. He set aside his own menu, without really looking at it. There wasn’t money on the table, but there was a gamble play and he intended to come out on top. Winners didn't hold the rulebook in front of them.

The waiter must have been watching their table for a sign, because as soon as his menu touched the tablecloth he was already making a beeline for them.

“Are you gentlemen ready to order?”

His sudden appearance put Andre on edge. The idea of getting service before he even knew he wanted it unnerved him. He almost wanted to wait a couple of minutes, just so he could pretend that this was just the better version of any other restaurant and not something else entirely.

“You wouldn’t happen to have the- I forget the name of it,” he lied. “But, it’s like a coffee dessert?”

“Affogato Amaretto?” the waiter suggested, but Andre shook his head. “Tiramisu Panna Cotta? Cappuccino Soufflé?”

“That’s it! That’s the one. We'll both take one.” He gestured at Braden as if there was anyone else he could possibly be referring to.

“Will that be all for you tonight?” he asked, collecting the menus.

“That’s it.” He turned his attention back to Braden before the waiter even left the table.         

“So.” Braden leaned over, placing his elbows on the table and earning a few glances for it. “Tell me about yourself. I know you’re reckless—”

“Reckless?”

“-and like spending my money. I didn’t really get the chance to ask you last night.” Andre flushed at the memory of throwing up while Braden rubbed his back. “What else do you have up your sleeve?”  

“Oh,” Andre replied, “It’s rather boring I’m afraid. I wouldn’t want to tire you with the details.”

"I said it yesterday and I’ll say it again. Sometimes boring isn’t so bad.”

Andre thanked whatever gods were looking out for him that he’d gone over his cover again this morning. “Alright then, if you insist. Insurance. Home insurance. Sometimes if I’m feeling if I’m feeling adventurous.” He leaned forward conspiratorially so that their faces were only a few inches apart. "I even do business insurance.”

“Oh, I’m beginning to see where your treacherous—”

“Treacherous?”

“Risky then, side comes from. So, what is an insurance salesman doing at the Belvedere? You aren't working for them are you? Or is the question, what are you doing in the city?”

“This may come as a surprise to you, but people live in D.C. And where there’s people there’s bound to be houses. But enough about me.” As much as Braden had said he didn’t mind the quieter moments in life, Andrew the traveling insurance salesman wasn’t the kind of guy you splurged stupid amounts of money on. Andrew the sugar baby wannabe on the other hand, he was prime splurging material. “So what do you do, handsome?”

“A lot of different things really, but most of the time I just take care of problems. Odd jobs really. I guess you could call me a handy man of sorts.”

Andre suppressed a shiver. It was a little too close to the truth than he was comfortable with. He wanted to excuse himself to the washroom, call for backup, and get the hell out of here. He wanted to excuse himself to the washroom for a whole other reason. Mobster or not, rich men, rich attractive men, were well, attractive. 

“Is this your first time in D.C.?” he asked instead.

“Second actually. But this is the first time that I’m here for an extended amount of time.”

“Really?” Andre played with his straw, pretending to pretend to be casual. “How long?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Holtby looked at him unflinching when he said it.

 _Gotcha_ , Andre thought. _Gotcha good_. Out loud he said, “It must be nice to have that kind of flexibility in your schedule.”

Maneuvering the conversation out of his fabricated backstory, he carefully avoided the numerous landmines embedded within and in doing so, discovered that so many things directly contradicted his entire image of the man. Like his love of gardening, for example, that he was a virgo. _Actually_ , he thought, _the latter might explain a lot_. The image of a Braden dressed as a ’20’s mobster plowing a field, however, was so funny he had laughed out loud and had an awful time trying to explain himself.

Thankfully for him, the waiter appeared before he could sputter out something unforgivable. He set each of their plates in front of them with a flourish, revealing a soufflé that looked better than any other he’d seen, and he’d spent a year undercover in France.

If it was possible, the dessert tasted better than it looked, and he took great pleasure in moaning after every bite he took, making sure to drag each one out as long as he could. He really wasn’t planning on getting fucked tonight, it was probably too early for that yet, but it was the knowledge that he wasn’t that made the game all the more entertaining. How long would it take until Braden excused himself to the washroom? Ten minutes? Fifteen? More? There was only one way to find out.

He took another bite, this time making eye contact. The other man didn’t choke on his own dessert like Andre might have done, in fact, he barely seemed to be affected by his show. If Andre hadn’t seen his eyes dilate after his first taste when he hadn’t even been trying to make a show out of it, he would have thought it had no effect. Looking harder, he noticed a few more tells. Uncomfortable shifting in the seat? Check. Difficulty making eye contact compared to usual? Check.

A few bites later, he was rather mournfully nearing the last of his dessert and consequently the end of his teasing, or at least of this specific tactic. He didn’t even notice at first that his phone was ringing.

“Do you need to answer that?” Braden asked. He didn’t sound nearly out of breath as Andre wanted him to sound. Typically, with his target at such close range he would never even consider answering and he was even less inclined to do so now, but there was only one number programmed to override do not disturb. He was regretting even bringing his phone tonight, but his only other option now was to let it ring and have a special forces team come to “rescue” him or answer it.

“Sorry,” Andre apologized, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “It’s my dad. I’m afraid he’ll keep calling if I don’t answer.”

“No worries,” Braden assured him. “I’ll just take care of some business items. Take as long as you need.”

“I won’t be long.” _Hopefully_ , he thought, hurrying away from any of the other customers before it could reach his voice mail. When he was far enough away that Braden shouldn’t be able to hear much, but still close enough to keep an eye on him, he pressed to answer. Before Andre could do anything else, Nicky’s angry voice came through.

“Andre Marcus Burakovsky,” he started and if Andre was nervous before, he felt his stomach lurch uncomfortably now. All the good energy he’d been accumulating throughout the night seemed to vanish at the sound of his voice. Perhaps if Andre hadn’t known him for as long as he had, he wouldn’t have detected the anger. Nicky’s voice didn’t raise in volume when he was angry, but just grew colder. He’d heard rumors once that there was only one person who could ever rile him up enough that his voice raised. He was too terrified to ask who it was, but he certainly felt sorry for them.

“If you ever turn your glasses off ever again, I swear to God I will come over there and turn them on for you since apparently you aren’t even capable of pressing one button by yourself. Because that’s what I’m going assume happened. I refuse to believe that you’re dumb enough to forget why you have them in the first place.” 

“Hi Papa,” Andre replied in English. Braden was far enough away, but who knew if anyone else was listening in.

“The only reason you aren’t being benched until God knows how long, the only reason you haven’t been removed from the team entirely, the only reason I’m not personally flying out there right now to beat your dumbass, is because I convinced Trotzie to that there was a technical malfunction. Do you hear me? A technical malfunction. As far as the records go, there was a glitch in your tech which will miraculously fix itself in a moment. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, that sounds about right to me.”

“But you and I both know that isn’t true. So, I swear to God if you if you ever turn your glasses off again I will be there to take care of you personally before Trotzie can even think about replacing you. Alright?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Andre kept his tone as even as he could despite the healthy level of fear coursing through his veins at the threat. “I’ll be home in a couple days anyway.”

“You better hurry. Trotzie bought what I said about technical mishap, because he trusts me. Not you. Me. But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to overlook the incident. He wants to bring you back in to HQ to run some tests on your glasses.”

“What?” His voiced raised a little and he shot a glance at Braden only to find him looking back concerned. He smiled back as reassuring as he could, continuing at a volume more appropriate. “What?”

“They want you out of there in twenty-four hours.”         

“So soon?”

“Running a mission with faulty tech is too risky. So you better complete the your task before then. When they run diagnostics and see nothing is wrong, well let’s say you’ll need all the leverage you can get. And if you don’t come back, I can’t promise that it won’t be me that they send after you.”

His stomach lurched, mind running wild with possibilities of what to do now and hitting roadblocks at all of them. “Thanks for letting me know.” 

“This has been a courtesy call Andre, I can’t do anything more for you. Believe me, if I could, I would. Turn your glasses on now and finish your mission. Good luck.” There was a click and Andre was alone again.

“It was nice to talk to you too, Dad.” He told the dead line and clicked his glasses back on. A loading icon appeared in the bottom right corning and in another minute or two he'd be back online. “Yeah, love you too. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Is everything alright?” The mark asked as he returned to the table. He looked genuinely concerned, but Andre wasn’t in the mood to analyze it.

“Sorry about that. My dad’s just being a pain in the ass for the nurses again. Refusing to take his pills. Nothing new.”

Holtby covered Andre’s hand in what was supposed to be a comforting manner, but just felt confining. His thumb rubbed small circles into the back of his hand distracting him. It felt like sandpaper rubbing his flesh raw. He watched the other’s mouth move, but the sound never made it to his ears.

“Sorry what was that?”

Holtby smiled. “I asked if you wanted to talk about it?"

“No, actually, I’d rather talk about anything else. I appreciate the offer.” He added hurriedly. “Truly. You said you traveled a lot for work?”

Holtby gave him another questioning look, but after getting no response, he began a long winded story about as trip in Bucharest that Andre thought was supposed to be funny, but he couldn’t quiet keep track of what was going. There were large enough holes in the story where he could have driven Holtby’s Benz straight through without worrying about the paint job. It didn’t escape Andre’s notice that most of the confusion came from the lack of names being used to describe the various other characters and the vague descriptions of what they were actually doing. Nor did he ever explain what he was doing in Romania, or even Europe for that matter, but Andre didn’t push it.

It didn’t help that his thoughts kept drifting back to the phone call. _Twenty-four hours? How could anyone accomplish anything in that little time?_ He’d practically only just begun. Rushing would only set off serious alarm bells, but what was his alternative? Permanent suspension? Dismissal?

“Earth to Andrew,” Holtby called softly and Andre’s cheeks flushed, but not for the right reasons. Here he was thinking about how little time he had left and not even putting it to use. He took a deep breath and resolved to do better. There wasn’t any other options. 

“Sorry, I think that soufflé filled me up a little too much. I’m starting to fall into a food coma.” It sounded weak even to him. He tried again. “Would you mind repeating that?”

“I asked if you wanted to head back to the hotel. I took care of the check while you were on the phone, so we can leave as soon as you’re ready to.” Andre didn’t miss the choice of words and the implication felt like a knife to his back.

“Actually.” He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping he read their previous encounters accurately. “Would it be alright if we stayed a little longer? I thought that perhaps a cup of coffee might wake me up.”

Holtby was already standing, ready to leave, but he sat back down. “Alright. I suppose I could use a cup myself.”

It didn’t take the waiter who had served them earlier long to reappear when he realized they weren’t leaving after all.

“Can I do anything else for you gentlemen?”

Andre ignored him for a moment, attention turned on Braden. “You aren’t lactose intolerant right?”

Holtby shook his head, a smile beginning to form. It was small, but it was there. “Correct.”

“Could I get a Café Viennois, then? For both of us actually. Micro-lot if you have it.”

“Of course. It will be out in a minute.” He bowed ever so slightly and started to leave, but Andre stopped him.

“Make it a fresh pot, if you wouldn’t mind. We’ll wait the extra time.”

“Naturally, sir.” He bowed again, this time leaving for real.

“Spill.” Holtby leaned in once the waiter was out of earshot. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it and I let it slide then, but that was before you saw how out if you were.”

And like that the professionalism switch flipped back on. The fishing was so soft, buried beneath all the fake concern, but Andre was a professional fisher and easily saw through it.

“Are you sure?” He let his lip wobble and looked back up at the mark through thick lashes, eyes wide. “I’ve been a terrible date tonight, I couldn’t push all my problems on you after that."

“Of course you can.” The strength of his assurance reaffirmed his suspicions. Holtby may not be suspicious of infiltration, but he hadn’t survived this long in his line of work by not keeping his guard up. “I’m the one who wanted to take you out tonight when you clearly have things you need to take care of, so I’m partially to blame.”

_Placing the blame on yourself so you seem more generous? A true classic._

Andre took a breath, forcing all of the built-up tension from the past hour out with his exhale before plastering on a small smile. “You’re too nice to me you know that?”

“I wouldn’t say standing you up for dinner is a particularly nice thing to do.”

“I’m sure you had good reasons. Your business meeting ran late, remember?”

It felt like a dance with all the steps scripted in advance. Every move Andre made, Holtby would match.

“There is no reason that is a great enough excuse for causing you pain.”

“And now you’re just over doing it.”

It wasn’t a battle, or if it was, it was only ceremonial. To an outside viewer it may have looked dangerous, but each jab expected to be met with a parry not flesh.

“And you’re evading the question.”

“In my defense you just told to spill which doesn’t count as a question.”

It was all a theatrical performance of which Andre had never participated in before to such an extreme. He would describe how his father was slowly driving all his nurses crazy and Holtby would ask about a detail regarding a specific, probing to see if he was lying. Andre had never felt so well matched in his life. Although he could tell Holtby wasn't certain of everything he was saying, the lack of certainty didn't seem to threaten him.

Their coffees were brought out at some point, but Andre honestly couldn’t have said when. While Holtby had his turn of speaking, Andre took sips of his, making sure to play with his straw in a manner that drew attention to his mouth. He wasn’t above petty distractions.

“Can we continue this in the car?” he asked once he’d finished both his coffee and rest of the one Holtby had pushed across the table when he saw the first was empty. “I think if I sit in this chair any longer I’m going to permanently meld to it.”

“Let’s head back then. But don’t think this gets you off the hook.” He waited for Andre to push his chair in and as soon as he was in reach placed an arm around his waist.

“I would never think of such things.”

“Then I'm glad we're on the same page.”

Andre hesitated for a moment, before they left. “I know I said it before, but you’re too good to me.”

“I’d argue not good enough.”

He rolled his eyes. “Alright. Come on. You promised me a ride home, yes? You at least won't protest that?”

***

Holtby pulled under the hotel awning, jumping out as soon as the car was in park to open Andre’s door. He tossed the keys to the nearest valet carelessly, attention only on Andre. The elitism of it all didn’t seem as repulsive as it normally did and he almost felt as though he was enjoying himself. Perhaps, he could get used to this kind of life.

Under the premise of helping him out of the car, Holtby held out a hand, but as soon as the car door was shut it moved possessively around his waist instead. Andre felt his ears turn pink at what the valet, or the door man, or any passerby in the general vicinity, might think of him all dressed up on the arm of a rich man. Everything he did just screamed “I am arm candy,” but the hand just cemented it.

Failing to notice Andre’s initial hesitancy, Holtby walked into the doors of the hotel like he’d done it a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times more. Head held high, back straight like he belonged. Because he did belong in this world. Andre was the one who was fake.

He had thought walking through the doors would attract more attention, but the desk worker was too busy with checking in another couple to spare more than a glance before returning his focus on his current task. They didn't look like threats and if they were someone else could deal with them. Most guests had concerns of their own to fuss about but the ones that did seem curious, didn’t make him feel uncomfortable. He let his back straighten and his shoulders roll back. _Yeah, look at us_ , he wanted to say. _Look at this handsome-ass man who is toting me around like a prize. You know why? Because I am a damn prize._

Their elevator was empty except for the two of them and the operator. Without others around Andre had assumed Holtby might remove his arm if it was indeed just a sign of possession, but he still had to stifle his disappointment he felt the pressure lift. A moment later, he felt a hand slide under his suit jacket and the pressure return to its previous spot, abet under the jacket this time.

 _Oh_ , Andre thought. Neither of them had spoken since exiting the car and neither spoke now.

When they reached Andre’s room, it took him a moment to open the door. He couldn’t remember which pocket his key was in and then once he located it, the door seemed hesitant to recognize him. Holtby’s hand had stayed gently on his waist throughout the process, showing no eagerness to let go and Andre found himself lacking the desire to go back into his room alone once he finally had the door open.

He turned to face Holtby, to invite him inside, to ask him to stay, but was struck by how close they were. The distance between their faces seemed smaller than ever and Andre looked down at Holtby’s mouth before placing his own hand on the other’s hip.

“Do you want to come in?” He asked softly when he regained control of his words.

Holtby peered behind Andre, at the room beyond the door and then back to him. He wondered if the other was thinking about the previous time he had been inside. “Not tonight I think. We’ve both been drinking.” Andre opened his mouth to argue that it was barely a bottle between both of them, but Holtby cut him off. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t love to come in, or that I’ll say no next time.”

“Next time?” Andre asked hoping he just sounded eager and not desperate. There had to be a next time, but Holtby didn’t need to know that.

“If you think anyone could spend an evening with you and not want a next time then you are dead wrong.”

 _Cheesy,_ Andre thought but externally he smiled. “Alright. Next time then.”

Holtby didn’t reply, but didn’t make any move to leave either. They stayed there, neither of them moving, until Andre thought that the moment had passed and began to remove his hand. There was only so long they could stand in a hotel hallway before someone walked by after all. Holtby placed his hand gently on top of Andre’s arm. Lightly enough that Andre could move it if he wanted to, without ever applying much force, but it was enough to get the meaning across.

_Don’t._

Andre leaned in, anticipating the question and asking it first. “Is it alright if I kiss you?”

“More than,” Holtby told him and then they were.

It wasn’t as intense as Andre was hoping. He wasn’t pushed up against the door. There wasn’t even any tongue. But there was a hand at his neck running through the fine curls there. _Tug them_ , Andre wanted to tell him, but that would have required pausing and he wasn’t ready to give that up. Not yet. It was softer and nicer than such a chaste kiss ought to have the right to be. Almost frustratingly so. And then it was over.

Andre opened his eyes, only now realizing that he had ever closed them, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile from the other man.

“Do you know,” Andre started. “That I have never been on a yacht before?”

Holtby smiled wider, first in confusion at the topic and then in realization. “What makes you think I have one here? I already told you this is only my second time in the city.”

“I’ll think you’ll figure something out.” He started to pull away again, already turning back to his door. “Good night.”

“Good night. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Andre whirled back to face Holtby fueled by his memory of futile attempts at booty calling. “You don’t have my number.” He called down the hall to where Holtby was waiting by the elevator.

“I’ll call your room phone,” Holtby yelled back, stepping into the car as it arrived and then poking his head back out. “Good night!”

“Good night!” He stood watching the elevator until the door closed.

 “Good job,” Djoos crackled in his ear. “You’ve just about got him wrapped around your little finger.”

“Thanks,” he replied, but his voice fell flat and the door to his room shut behind him.


End file.
